Little Flakes of Blue Paint
by onetinynaylor
Summary: One-shot based on Song of Self Part 2. Zosia breaks down in front of Jac after Guy refuses to take the attack to the police. Rated T for swearing.


"What is it about you, Dad?" Zosia gripped onto the chair with all the strength she could muster, her knuckles stark and ghostly against the black leather "What is it that always makes you want more regardless of the cost?"

She stepped back from the chair, looking straight at Guy's face. He had fear etched into every pore, she could see that. But his fear stemmed from the wrong place. His fear stemmed from concern for his own career. Not for her.

Zosia reached down for her bag, and stood up again, shaking her head in confusion.

"What are you still trying to prove?"

As she spun round to the door, she caught a glimpse of Ollie. He was pale with worry, and part of her, a big part of her, wanted to go straight over and be enveloped in his arms like a safety blanket, but she had seen him with her father. He let Guy stop him from calling the police. He didn't have to, he could have made that call.

Zosia yanked open the door and stepped out into the corridor, slamming it forcefully behind her. She couldn't believe it. What would it take for him to step outside of his career bubble? An attack on his own daughter hadn't managed to sway him, so what would? Why was it such a fight for him to show any love?

She walked through Darwin, surveying the nurses as they fiddled with drips, listening to the steady, reassuring beat of each heart monitor, her nose flooding with the familiar scent of the ward as she rounded the nurses' station. She paused briefly to run a lazy hand across the countertop, and then continued her walk, peering through blinds into bays, the dim lights soothing her eyes. God, she was tired. But she was so fired up and so angry at the same time.

She stopped at the end of the corridor and felt her rage bubble up out of her throat. She fucking hated him. She hated him so much. The sound erupted from within her like lava, shocking her, pouring out down her clothes, spreading over the floor. Dropping her bag, Zosia began to pound her fists against the wall, fast and forcefully and she wished more than anything that she was hitting someone who would feel it, who would feel how she felt inside. She really fucking hated him. She shrieked until her throat felt raw, and the sound trickled down to moans. She punched the wall until her fingers were blistered, and little dents were appearing in the plasterboard, until the pale blue paint was flaking off down her sleeves.

That was when she felt two cool hands take hold of her wrists, gently pulling them away from the wall and down to her sides.

"Zosia," Jac said, behind her "I think you'd better come with me. My office, please."

Zosia waited until she felt the air change behind her - she knew that it meant Jac had turned away – before slowly reaching down for her upturned handbag. She looked down and noticed her belongings scattered across the floor: debit cards, loose change, her smashed-up iPhone, the keys with the Florida Oranges keyring, a Bobbi Brown compact, a tampon, some Vaseline. As she gathered each item and placed it carefully back into the bag, she felt a tear slide slowly down her cheek. She had let him get to her, again.

Zosia composed herself on the walk to Jac's office. She wiped her eyes, tightened her ponytail, smoothed down her cropped top, and knocked with as much confidence she could summon.

"Yes?" Jac's deadpan reply was always the same. Zosia let the familiarity of it sooth her, and stepped through the threshold into the room.

"Sit down Zosia."

Zosia stood, clutching her bag, and looked fleetingly from the chair to Jac and back to the chair. She didn't want to sit down. She didn't want to feel trapped.

"Or don't." Jac muttered, sliding off her glasses. She looked up and stared Zosia straight in the eye. "What's going on, Zosia?"

Zosia felt the words slip from her mouth before she could stop them, like word vomit "Tristan, he, I-Jemima wanted to leave but he- her passport was locked away and I went to get it after she said she wanted to leave but he caught me and- and- and…"

Her babbling tailed off as she looked back at Jac. She had the same face she'd had in the taxi, the same face she had after Arthur died. It was the face that Zosia had come to trust the most. But it was painful to look at, because it wasn't the face she was most accustomed to seeing on Jac. It was far too compassionate and kind.

She took a deep breath and continued, slowly and evenly, looking up at the blinds to avoid Jac's concerned expression "He attacked me."

Jac took a sharp breath, audibly, but composed herself immediately. That was one of the traits Zosia admired most about Jac – her ability to deal with dangerous or difficult situations in such a dignified way, not panicking and (Zosia cringed as she thought about her behaviour) screaming and punching things.

"Have you contacted the police? He's a horrible man, we knew that, but Jesus, Zosia." Jac looked utterly appalled "He attacked you? How?"

"He strangled me, or at least tried to." Zosia cleared her throat, and gently tugged at her scarf. It tumbled from her neck, exposing the raw grazes and purple bruises. Jac stood, put her glasses on, and moved across to Zosia. She examined the marks, frowning and arching her eyebrows at the size and shape of them.

"Anything else?"

Zosia wrapped her scarf back round her neck, and breathed in deeply, savouring the comforting scent, before continuing.

"He threw me onto the desk, pushed me. He was on top of me so I couldn't breathe, and his hands were round my neck, and I panicked, I didn't know what to do, so I grabbed the nearest object and… and I hit him with it."

Jac sat back down and clasped her hands together, looking at the far wall as Zosia was talking. She knew exactly the feeling Zosia was describing. She remembered it clearly and sharply, although she always tried her utmost not to. But hearing it from another person was far, far more painful than thinking about her own experience. She wouldn't wish an attack like that on an enemy, let alone on Zosia. She'd been through more than enough already.

"He was lying there, afterwards, bleeding. I hit his head. Jemima saw the whole thing, but I bolted, I...I didn't know what to do. I went to the locker room, and I saw Ollie and I think it was then that someone found Tristan. Dad operated on him. He saved him."

A tear slipped down Zosia's left cheek as she spoke. She swiped it away, irritated.

"I got changed from my dress. It got ripped, my dress, ripped down the seam at the side. I never even made it to the gala. And I told Dad and Ollie what happened and Dad went ballistic. I thought because he was so angry, he'd help but… then when I went back to his office later on, he was telling Ollie not to call the police. And when I confronted him about it, he said it was to protect me because they'll think it was because I'm bipolar, they'll think I was manic. But it's not about me. It's about his stupid Neuro Centre. I'm so sick and tired of coming second to his fucking career!"

Zosia was crying properly, and shouting, now, but she barely noticed. Jac watched her carefully, taking in the pink, watery eyes and the desperation that burst from her body like a breaking dam. She saw that it would happen before it did. Zosia reached out to the desk to steady herself, but wobbled. Jac was on her feet and running round the desk before she'd even had time to think about what she was doing. As Zosia's legs gave way, they tumbled to the floor, Zosia wrapped in Jac's arms, her chin resting on her bony shoulder as she wept.

Jac held Zosia until her sobs subsided, rubbing her back in tiny circles in the same way she did for Emma when she woke up in the night with a bad dream. Zosia leaned back from Jac, wiped her eyes on her sleeve, and rested her back against the wall. Jac turned and did the same, so that the two women were sat leaning against the office wall with their feet out in front of them.

"Jac," Zosia said, quietly "I need someone to call the police."

"Are you sure?" Jac looked down at Zosia's hands. They were clasped together in her lap, and covered in tiny blue flakes of paint. They were pink and sore and they were painful to look at.

Zosia nodded absently "Yes, I'm sure."

Jac reached out to Zosia's clasped hands and brushed the flakes of paint from her knuckles, with a gentleness that both surprised and scared Zosia in equal measure.

"Okay."


End file.
